


We Become Aware of the Void as We Fill It

by memelessness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe-Role Reversal, Angel!Crowley(Corviel), Angst, Demon!Aziraphale(Ziraphon), Ineffable Husbands(Good Omens), Other, Reverse Omens, Roleswap AU, Talk of Alcohol, Talk of drugs, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelessness/pseuds/memelessness
Summary: Corviel tries to fill the demon-shaped void in his life.





	We Become Aware of the Void as We Fill It

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Scars That Won't Fade Until You Do](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CorvielZiraphon/works/19888066) by Bfly1225
> 
> Please support all our works on [Our Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CorvielZiraphon)

Corviel didn’t mean for The Argument to end how it did (it was so bad that it deserved the capitals), but he was suddenly just so very mad. The words escaped without time to think. Words of hate, and secrets told in confidence, and overall things that he never would’ve said in any normal fight.

Then it all stopped with a deafening crack, followed by an even more painful silence. He held his cheek as the skin began to burn. Had they just-

“Stupid demon.” He muttered under his breath, walking past. He didn’t even look back! Why didn’t he look back?!

Now the angel sat in the middle of the music store, exclusively sad tunes playing over new speakers (he’d made himself a mixtape some time ago. They crackled often in the middle of a song, due to being recorded as the radio played. Currently, he was listening to Queen’s “Your My Best Friend”).

Occasionally, customers would ask about the bruise he hadn’t bothered to miracle away, and he always answered the same.  _ I ran into a pole. _ It was believable, considering his massive height and oblivious behavior, but there were some that had the audacity to pry further. One even asked if it was a lover’s quarrel.  _ A lover’s quarrel _ ?! As if he would stoop so low!

But he knew (in a sense) that he was lying to himself. Not that they were lovers, that would never happen, but he genuinely missed his friend. It had been almost 6000 years since they’d met, and ever since they’d been each others’ only constants.

And he had to ruin it with the words he couldn’t control, all because… well he couldn’t even remember what it was that prompted the outrage.

How could he ever expect forgiveness?

\--

It wasn’t until a few more years (1983, to be precise) that he finally decided he spent enough time to wallow in self pity. He was going to go to parties, and be wild, and forget about-

He’d heard Freddie Mercury was having a bunch of parties, lately (not to brag, but he had once shared a bed with the celebrity, before The Argument, and got  _ two _ of his vinyls signed), and decided to seize the day.

Corviel stood at the front door of the mansion muttering to himself some words of confidence. He could be a party person. Definitely. He could be cool. He  _ is _ cool! He just needed to think,  _ what would Azir _ -

He shook his head violently, pushing the thought away as he opened the door. Strutting in with a hand at his hip.

“I brought wi-  _ Oh _ dear Lord!” The angel stood with mouth agape, looking over the mass of men deeply engrossed in their… passions. He hadn’t seen this many bodies since last he’s been to Greece, and even then he never partook. 

He was stunned, looking outward upon the sea of men. He came to party, but not to  _ party _ . The good guest in him told him to set the bottle down; to regain his swagger and join… but the rest of his body was telling him to hurry up and get out of there.

His subconscious decided a compromise. 

“O-oh… I… uh, right. S-swank place you got.” He bent over, leaving the bottle of wine on the floor, and after looking up again, he awkwardly turned around and left.

He kept trying again, taking all day to prep, finding a much better wine, and arriving early to ease himself into it. The flirting was the easy part. He loved being flirted with. Some men would pour him a drink to take away the edge, others would call him beautiful and build the angel up so they could be the first in the bunch to get into his pants… but once it got heated, he’d get flustered. They’d let him leave (since he was in a constant state of about-to-have-a-panic- attack), and he’d just walk carefully home as the drugs and alcohol would blur his vision. 

By the fourth visit, he hadn’t been much more confident. He waited for the ecstasy to pulse into his bloodstream as he held an all-too-full glass of Brandy.

That was when Mr. Mercury himself took the angel by the hand, whispering sweet nothings as he was escorted to a private room.

At the break of morning, he’d quickly gotten up and waved away the foul taste in his mouth. He tried to be quiet about gathering his clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles and tying his long hair back in a quick ponytail.

“There’s someone else on your mind.” The celebrity spoke as he tried to leave, “Don’t let them go, Darling.” 

Corviel stood quietly by the door, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find his words. How would they know how he felt? How could this… this  _ human _ possibly understand?!

He recoiled at the thought. How could he dare think of the word with such contempt? He loved humanity so very much, so why?

Because humanity was no substitute for eternity. They were weak, and brittle, and just… fading.

“I… I do wish you good health.” The angel smiled a… well, angelic smile, hiding his feelings behind a deep facade. 

\--

Angels don’t pray… or rather they have no need to pray. If he had a concern, he could tell the Archangels, who would tell higher ups, who would keep climbing up the ladder until it reached the Mettatron, and then eventually God herself. That’s what he had hoped, at least. But he’d reached an all time low, and he couldn’t  _ exactly _ tell Gabriel about his falling out with a demon. Imagine that! ‘Yes, Gabriel I seemed to have gotten into quite a bit of a tiff with my, well, adversary. Cagey peacock, he is.’ Come to think of it, that wasn’t exactly something to say directly to God, either.

He stepped into the church one Sunday afternoon, walking fairly slowly through the pews as he ran gentle fingers across the battered wood. 

This place was loved. Very loved. He wondered about it briefly, chalking it down to the many marriages and baptisms it may have experienced in its many years. It wasn’t exactly uplifting, but it was comforting.

“Hey, there.” Corviel sank into a seat, leaning forward with clasped hands, “I… I know we haven’t spoken directly in… ppsshhhh… 5,989 years now? But who’s counting! Don’t even know if your listening, really.” He let out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes, “I just… what I’m trying to say is I’m very lost, and I know I should take this with the Archangels, b-but I really need someone to guide me right now?” 

“The locks just keep breaking!” The pastor stood at the altar, a pile of broken locks in front of them.

He lifted his head up, furrowing a brow, “Right, I uh… Guess I’ll take care of that then.” The angel stood up carefully, a slight wavering in his breath as he approached the altar.

\--

Corviel changed the locks over and over for six years!  _ Six years? _ ! Who was so desperate to break into a church that’s they’d keep breaking the locks for six years?! And he  _ literally _ made each lock to be even more indestructible than the last! What if it was a gang? He didn’t want to risk discorporation… there’d be too much paperwork.

One night, the angel had been absolutely restless and took a stroll through the night. They made him feel… better. Not necessarily good, but better. He’d fix broken street lights, and miracle some misery away.

There seemed to be a lot of misery around him, lately.

“God dammit.” A familiar voice struggled as he walked past the church.

He felt a pit in his stomach, feet frozen in place. Was this real? But why would they be here? At a church? With consecrated grounds, and altars, and holy water?... they weren’t planning on…

“Aziraphon?” Corviel approached carefully, voice cracking and shaky, “W-what are you doing here?” He reached a hand out, recoiling as they flinched against his touch

The demon’s hair had almost been completely red by this point, knee high platforms (which had yet to have wheels) accentuating their thighs and shorts… dear lord they were somehow shorter. A little pin was attached to their shirt, the words ‘Ask me about my pronouns’ written in beautiful cursive (they were trying to start a trend). They gave him a near-horrified look, letting go of the church lock.

"Oh hey sorry yeah I was just gonna... draw dicks on the alters... cause I'm a demon.” Ziraphon shifted awkwardly, eyes darting back and forth behind aviator sunglasses. He quickly turned on a heel, rushing to walk away, “Anyways, I’ll be leaving bye"

Corviel reached out to grab their wrist, retreating as his eyes continued to follow.

"... Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Just… wait."

The demon turned back around, not wanting to stay but not really ready to go.

Corviel moved in an unusual and uncomfortable behavior, leaning his weight against the church door. He didn’t know what to say, “I just…”  _ I miss you _ , “How have you been?”

Ziraphon watched apprehensively, fingers curling into the rim of his shirt, “An- Corviel, listen. I don’t want to just… just pretend that nothing happened between us, okay?” He choked the last word out, looking down at the ground as he let out a shaky breath, “So please, I’m begging you, don’t just brush it off like you always do.”

The angel stood still, mouth agape as he watched the other carefully… They still hated him, “I uh… guess I really screwed the pooch on this, huh?”

Ziraphon watched them inquisitively, “Are you American, now?” But the quip didn’t have its usual energy. It sounded defeated. 

“I’m sorry.” Corviel spoke up, “I mean about… the fight… that we had. I was mad, a-and I wasn’t thinking… And I’m sure that you…” He looked down at his hands, fingers fumbling against each other as he tried to find his words, “I’m sure you hate me… b-but I really want to make things right between us.” 

“Corviel…” The demon paused, voice wavering as he tried to push down the mass of emotions that began to flood his senses, “I… I could  _ never  _ hate you…” 

The angel noticed how Ziraphon appeared to be on the verge of crying… Come to think of it, he’d never seen them cry before. If angels cried holy water, then what about demons? Hopefully not Hellfire.

Corviel cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly as he readjusted his tie (he’d added a lot of ties to his collection this past decade, filling the dreadful void with vibrant colors).

“You shouldn’t… I mean… I’m sorry.” Ziraphon spoke softly, as if the apology had been a secret (in a sense, it was. All this time on Earth, and he had never apologized to anyone), “I’m the one who provoked you… and… the one who hit you.” His voice began to tremble, making him sound embarrassingly undemonic.

The angel shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to find the eyes that hid behind large sunglasses, “Aziraphon, I cannot even  _ remember _ why I was angry.” He spoke hallowly, “As far as I can tell, I had absolutely no reason to say those things to you.”

“But I-”

“Absolutely no reason.”

Ziraphon watched the floor, gently tapping the palms of his hands against his thighs.

“How about dinner?” Corviel offered, hands buried in his pockets as to keep himself from reaching for his adversary’s hand. 

“It’s the middle of the night, Angel.” The demon forced a smile, slow to approach the other, “Nowhere’s going the be open.”

“Breakfast, then.” He pushed himself away from the church door, already starting to walk, “It’s been a decade, Dear. No better time than the present, we can ‘catch up.’” He spoke the last words in the way a dad would when trying to sound cool, already leading the way back to the music store.

Ziraphon took a moment of consideration, watching as the angel walked away… and then they stopped, turned around, and gave him a pained smile that was probably about as forced as his own… They were both still hurting.


End file.
